


Burden

by Independence1776



Series: A Wild Tangle of Stones and Vines [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ósanwe-kenta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: As promised, Elrond informs Thranduil of Maglor's presence in Rivendell.





	Burden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SWG's "Love Actually" challenge, using this quote: "For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor's heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath."

Elrond rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. He had eaten a light breakfast of toast with jam, not exactly hungry. Celebrían hadn’t needed to ask why his usually hearty appetite had vanished. He should not-- could not-- put off his task for any longer than had he already. It was now a decent hour of the morning; Thranduil would be prepared for the day.  
  
Elrond leaned back in his seat and dropped his hand to his lap. He reached out with his mind. _Thranduil?_  
  
A faint grumbling and then a snappish, _What? This had better be important, Elrond._  
  
_Did I wake you?_ It would have been strange if he had; last night should have been ordinary for the Mirkwood Elves.  
  
_Hardly,_ Thranduil’s mental voice drawled. _Merely interrupted the one quiet morning I’ve had all year._  
  
Then he certainly wasn’t going to be in the mood to hear anything of what Elrond had to tell him. _Thranduil, it’s of the uttermost importance._  
  
Thranduil’s mental voice sharpened. _Did the Dark Lord return?_  
  
_Not as far as I am aware._  
  
_Then what happened?_  
  
Elrond swallowed. _Celebrían was attacked by orcs in the Redhorn Pass. She was rescued almost immediately, but there is no doubt she was deliberately targeted._  
  
Thranduil’s momentary silence definitely held several curse words. _Is she injured?_  
  
_She had a broken arm and has made a full recovery._ Elrond paused and “said” somewhat softer. _Maglor rescued her before the guards with her had hardly noticed she was taken._  
  
_The Kinslayer? Are you sure?_  
  
Elrond held back the words he wanted to fling across their mental conversation, but Thranduil did not need to hear them for the hundredth time as he would never understand why Elrond cared so much for Maglor. _He killed the orcs taking her away from the battle and returned to Imladris with the remaining guards and Celeborn’s force._  
  
_So he’s there?_  
  
_He is._  
  
_You did not contact me simply to inform me your so-called father is residing with you. What else?_  
  
_The official invitation will be sent out shortly, but we are holding a council here at midsummer, given the seriousness of the situation._  
  
The pause was more thoughtful this time. _I shall attend. Will the Kinslayer have left by then?_  
  
Elrond winced, but kept that reaction from Thranduil. _Celebrían and I extended the invitation for him to reside here. He accepted._  
  
The shout Elrond had expected never came. Instead, Thranduil’s mental voice had a distinct tone of resignation. _Keep him away from my people and me. He was Exiled for a reason, Elrond. I will wait to… express my displeasure in person._  
  
Elrond nodded. That could be either better-- Thranduil might calm down-- or it could be worse due to him dwelling on it. _I understand._  
  
_Good._ Thranduil’s voice softened. _Give my regards to Celebrían. I am glad to hear she escaped almost unscathed._  
  
Before Elrond could respond, Thranduil firmly shut Elrond out of his mind. Elrond straightened up in his chair and sighed. That was likely the best that conversation could have gone. He’d expected it to end with a mental argument and a migraine that would last the remainder of the day and it thankfully hadn’t. But he had done as he’d promised. His stomach grumbled, interrupting his thoughts. Maybe there was a scone or other pastry leftover from breakfast still available in the kitchens.


End file.
